Child of the Other Place
by NylahMimus
Summary: You think you've got family problems? Try spending the better part of your life on the streets of London with no knowledge of your past and only your twin brother to keep you company, only to find out that your entire life has been a lie, your brother isn't who he claims to be, and daddy dearest is a djinni. Nylah's got issues- hopefully our pal Bartimaeus can sort it out.


A thick cloud of smoke roiled and swirled, spiraling up in a trembling column of darkness. Tendrils stretched out of the whirling mass to delicately caress the edges of the pentacle that encased it. Two glowing eyes flickered to life within the column's shadowy depths, flickering like flames, the pupils roving around the room and coming to a stop on the figure in the adjoining pentacle. I stood in the shadows, watching.

"WHO DARES TO CALL UPON BARTIMAEUS?" a deep, rumbling voice shook the room; dust motes showered the ground and lights flickered. Isiah folded his arms, unaffected by the impressive display. I, on the other hand, was fascinated. Whoever this djinni was, he certainly had a taste for the aesthetic; then again, all djinn probably did- it must have been how they overcame the monotony of their years of service. I adjusted my sketchbook and absently brushed a charcoal-stained hand through my unruly curls, leaving sooty fingerprints on my forehead. Djinni and human, regarding each other soberly, nothing but chalk and darkness between them…

No, this wouldn't do at all. With a great sigh, I stepped forward and slumped into a crosslegged heap on the floor, scowling at my sketchbook and scattering charcoal through my fingers. The djinni jumped in surprise-well, as much as swirling columns of smoke can jump. It's revolutions stopped, and the glowing eyes flickered. Isiah turned to me, frowning slightly.

"I thought I told you to stay hidden. If you won't use a pentacle, you should at least try not to draw attention to yourself!" I waved his concern off, scoffing,

"Oh, please. Its not like he can do anything to me, can you, Bartimaeus?" I turned a sweet smile on the column of smoke, which had tentatively begun to swirl again. The djinni seemed unsure of what to say, while Isiah hissed,

"Nylah! Don't Goad him!" I chuckled at my brother's overprotective glower.

"Oh, come now, I think we've done this enough to establish that there's no need for your concern- though it is very sweet and brotherly of you and all. And anyway, I can't rightly sketch from that corner, can I? The light's all wrong there!"

"Oh, come now, the light's perfectly fine-"

"Oh I'm sure. Leonardo Da Vinci painted his best work cowering behind a door, did he?" Isiah's hands went to his hair, as they always did when he got frustrated- or more accurately, whenever I opened my mouth to speak. It wasn't always me, for the record- it's a habit of his, more or less. He does it when he's thinking hard- which is pretty much all the time. Sometimes it gets so bad that he'll stalk around looking like he's stuck a finger in a light socket until I manage to fix him up. Now that I think of it, I seem to mess with my hair a lot, too. Hmm. Must be a twin thing.

Isiah sighed, defeated by my infallible logic. "Fine. Although I don't know why you're so keen on drawing all of a sudden. You change hobbies faster than a djinni changes skin. What was it last week, flombology-"

"Flobotomy," I sniffed. "And I'll have you know-"

"Excuse me," Interrupted a slightly irritated voice. Startled out of our bickering, we turned to face the djinni, who seemed to have given up on his smoky guise and had instead opted for a more human outlook. A slight dark-skinned boy stood in the pentacle now, his black hair ruffled as if in irritation, his dark eyes glaring with a mixture of confusion and anger. I slammed my hands to the ground and swung my lower half around to face him, arranging myself into a picture of attentiveness. Once again, he seemed taken aback at my outright lack of restraint. Everyone usually is.

"Well, go on," I prompted. "Don't ruin a perfectly good argument just to gawk."

That seemed to do the trick. The boy drew himself up to a commanding height and snarled,

"I am Bartimaeus, Sakhr' Al Jinni, nGorso the mighty, Serpent-"

"We _know_ already," Isiah began huffily, but I interrupted in my usual charming manner.

"Now who's goading him? Sheesh, let him finish his bit." I turned to Bartimaeus, who had stopped mid-boast. "Sorry about that, my brother's a bit of a boor. Do continue, your list of names is really quite impressive."

Bartimaeus lost his sepulchral tones and instead, deflating, snapped, "Oh, all right. I'll cut the intro bit, although it's really my favorite part of this whole magician business."

I clucked sympathetically; my brother rolled his eyes. Bartimaeus leaned his chin on a hand, slumping over an invisible counter.

"Let's cut to the chase. What do you want, mortal?" I grinned. A fine Djinni indeed! He wore his wounded pride well. This one had obviously been around a good long while; Isiah had chosen well. My brother cleared his throat, obviously at a loss as to what to say. We'd never been confronted directly by Djinni before. Glared at, sure. Blustered at, cussed at, you name it, we'd seen it all. This one, this Bartimaeus-he was a bit different.

"Well, er- Bartimaeus," My brother began. "It's nice to finally meet you..?" At this Bartimaeus leant back and began to positively howl with laughter. And when I say howl, I mean howl. His nose elongated into a snout as he chortled, his teeth sharpening- but when he snapped his head back into a sarcastic sneer of mirth, his boyish good looks returned.

"_Nice to meet me_? I haven't heard that one before." He whipped a puce-colored notebook out of the air and began to write in it. "I'll set you down in my record books, eh- what did you say your name was again?" He glanced slyly over the brim of his large notebook. Isiah regarded him sheepishly.

"He didn't." I huffed impatiently. This was taking much too long.

"Bartimaeus," I cut in. "Regardless of what you think, we are pleased to meet you. No, don't scoff, it's not attractive. My brother has called you here to answer a few questions- or rather, a few of my questions. Will you please answer them honestly?"

The djinni regarded me lazily and drawled, "That depends on what your perception of honest is. You could, for instance, ask me what I thought of your looks- to which I may reply, oh, simply ravishing! But then that's a matter of perception, and could possibly be a complete lie." He grinned. "Not that you aren't pretty, of course. I've simply seen better." I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? And who would that be? The cunning Nefertiti? Graceful Helen of Troy? Or maybe that silly little thing, Cleopatra? Goodness knows that Egyptian woman had more beauty than brains, to let her little heart go all aflutter over a balding conqueror. But then, that's all a matter of perspective, as you said." I leaned forward earnestly as the djinni's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"This is why we've called you here. This is what I want to ask you about. My brother and I had been searching for the right djinni for years until we found you. Miphtahyah was a dear, but her memory was horrid." I began ticking off the entities we had conferred with on my fingers. "There was Serafa, Mordaut, Kador, Pope, and Aratak. Sheftu's memory was excellent, and the others were splendid beings to hang out with- but none of them have perspective!" I was getting worked up now. I felt my brother's silent goading in my thoughts, willing me to give up on the monologue building inside. I focused again on the djinni before me.

"Please, Bartimaeus. This is a request. Think of it as from a family friend. We have questions, ones that need answers. Will you help us?"

The dark skinned boy in the pentacle sat in silence, bemused- by the profusion of names or the sudden request, I couldn't tell. I waited with baited breath; it was always like that at first, with the djinn angry and bitter at being forced to do our bidding. But our friendship always had won in the end- at least, I hoped it would this time.

The seconds ticked by on the large wooden clock that kept time in the corner. A breeze crept in through the open window, ruffling the pages of books that lay scattered throughout Isiah's messy room. Outside, the dawn brightened into midmorning splendour, and the bustle of London's city life began to make itself heard.

_One. Two. Three-_

"Oh, all right, all right, I'll answer your questions," I clapped in delight and leapt up to air-hug the sides of the djinni's pentacle.

"Thank you, Bartimaeus! I can tell we're going to be great friends." I grinned at the scowling boy, while my brother, once again lost in thought, abstractedly ran a hand through his hair.

"Well," snapped the djinni at long last, "Your sentiments are sweet and all, but I'd really rather we get on with it. Ask away."

I turned to my brother expectantly, reaching out to him and nudging him mentally. He roused himself from his thoughts and followed my mental prompting. Quite convenient, this telepathy is. We'd always assumed it was a trait we had acquired because we were twins, but recent occurrences had begun to persuade us otherwise. Yet another question to ask our new scholarly source.

"Well," Isiah said briskly. "Let's start by getting comfortable, shall we?"


End file.
